By Bill Leonard
Not at the Jordan River, but in that flowing stream
stood John the Baptist preacher when he baptized Him.
John was a Baptist preacher when he baptized the Lamb,
so Jesus was a Baptist and thus the Baptists came.
***
The world, the devil, and Tom Paine, have tried their worst but all in vain.
They can’t prevail, the reason is, the Lord defends the Methodists.
They sing and pray and preach the best, and do the devil most molest.
If Satan had his vicious way, he’d kill and damn them all today.
I’m bound to march in endless bliss, and die a shouting Methodist.
Through hymns, doctrinal debates and flagrant competition, 19th century American Protestants distinguished themselves against the world, the flesh, the devil – and each other.
Denominations passed specific identities on to their respective constituencies that helped them know who they were and where they fit in the church’s history and practice. Their 21st century counterparts, however, seem to be jettisoning denominational names right and left of the theological center, not just in start-up “fellowships” but in congregations with generations of denominational connections.
During the last five years, one of Winston-Salem’s largest churches went from calling itself First Assembly of God, to becoming “First Assembly,” and now “First Winston.” A growing number of congregations are following suit. In the May 5 edition of The Miami Herald, reporter Patricia Borns documented such name changes, many in Florida churches long identified as Baptist. University Baptist Church, Coral Gables, is now “Christ Journey;” First Baptist Church, Perrine, has become “Christ Fellowship;” Coral Baptist Church, Coral Springs, now calls itself “Church By the Glades;” and First Baptist, Fort Lauderdale, is now “First Fort Lauderdale,” the word Baptist parenthetically attached. The pastor of one congregation noted: “Baptist today has as many flavors as Baskin-Robbins ice cream. It has no defined meaning, and where it does, no positive meaning.” Another minister compared the name changes to the decision of Kentucky Fried Chicken to rebrand itself “KFC” largely because of the growing negative connotation of fried foods.
As a historian of the Baptists, I’m not surprised by these decisions to drop the Baptist name, given the wide spectrum of Baptist beliefs, practices and public dysfunctions. Yet I hope that congregations find clear historical/theological justification for their actions. Surely these decisions can produce better analogies than ice cream, deep frying or rebranding.
The original movement toward a “believer’s church” was well underway in 17th century England before the name Baptist took root. In fact, the earliest designation was probably “Dippers,” a term of derision leveled by critics who attacked their pernicious practice of total immersion whereby “both sexes enter into the River and are dipt . . . with a kind of spell containing . . . their erroneous tenets,” as Anglican Daniel Featley wrote in 1645. These early congregations often identified themselves by what they were and what they were not.
A 1644 confession of faith was approved by a London group composed of “those churches which are commonly (though falsely) called Anabaptist.” One 1651 confession of faith was affirmed by “thirty Congregations, gathered according to the primitive pattern;” while a confession of 1660 was “set forth by many of us, who are (falsely) called Ana-Baptists, to inform all men (in these days of scandal and reproach) of our innocent belief and practice.” The name Baptist probably did not take hold until the mid-to-late 1600s.
As denominations became a normative means of organizing church life in England and America, their names became shorthand for distinguishing characteristics of the ever-multiplying Protestant sects. Episcopalians had bishops; Presbyterians had presbyteries; Methodists were methodical; Baptists required immersion; and Pentecostals restored, well, Pentecost. Restorationist efforts to abolish such divisive names and replicate the New Testament church led to the formation of the Christian Church, the Disciples of Christ and the Churches of Christ – three new denominations.
These days, churches that relinquish traditional denominational designations might consider the following questions: How does abandoning a denominational name impact a church’s historic identity? Will a specific congregation continue to place itself within an identifiable context of Christian tradition or simply lose its memory? What strategies will individual churches have for inculcating identity related to faith, baptism, Holy Communion and theological orientation in contexts that no longer claim a particular historic label? What persons and issues from the past will those churches claim and articulate? Will these faith communities retain a historic center or will they foster a new generation of Christian “nones,” individuals who have a limited or uncertain sense of location inside a kind of generic Christianity?
And there is no generic Christianity; intentional or unintended identity will prevail sooner or later. Thus churches that claim generic names are responsible for introducing members to the legacy of their faith. A church without a sense of history is a church adrift, old or new, liberal or conservative, whatever its peculiar “brand” may be.
But there is hope. KFC changed its name but never stopped frying. Baptists won’t either, I suspect, whatever they call themselves.